FOEHJ 
B4LL4D 


>.  M;  j, 


I 


GIFT   OF 
Class   of   1887 


BANCROFT 
LIBRARY 

•o 

THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


POEMS  AND  BALLADS 


BY 


JOHANNA    M.    SANDERS 


SAN   FRANCISCO 

PRINTED   PRIVATELY   FOR   THE   AUTHOR 

BRUNT  &  COMPANY 

1890 


Copyright,  1890 
BY  ALFRED  A.  WHEELER 


C&    \^<*\ 


Of  ONE  HUNDRED  COPIES  PRINTED 
THIS  is  No.  Z 


WHEELER 


:•-!  \\  T 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

My  Song i 

May  Day 3 

On  the  Rhine 8 

The   Lost  Pleiad n 

The  Singer       . 12 

The  Secret  Cairn 17 

The  Truant  Lord 18 

Tintern  Abbey 20 

On  a  Piece  of  Washington's  Coffin      .     .     .23 

The  Stars  and  Stripes 24 

A  Centennial  Ode 31 

Dalilah 35 

Florence  Nightingale 36 

The  Bride 37 

The  Apple  Woman's  Story 39 

Sea  Weeds 48 

The  Death  of  Wagner 49 

The  Mermaid's  Song 50 

A  Lover's  Rhapsody .     .51 

Unloved 52 

Bereaved 53 


At  the  Fountain  of  Egeria 56 

In  Bondage 57 

Pia  in  Maremma 58 

To  a  Thistledown 62 

Matin  Song 64 

A  Bird  Carol 66 

Cradle  Song 68 

Arctums 70 

To  my  Brother 71 

Curds  and  Cream 72 

California 7& 

In  the  Santa  Cruz  Mountains 79 

In  Pace  .  82 


POEHS 


MY  SONQ 


WHAT  though  my  lips  be,  mute  , 
Or  faintly  sighing, 
Like  some  unfingered  lute 

Neglected  lying, 
Amid  whose   silver    chords   sweet    music    only 

slumbers 
Until  the  minstrel's  touch  shall  wake  its  hidden 

numbers  : — 
Within  my  bosom  sealed, 

Oft  wildly  ringing, — 

The  music  unrevealed,— 

My  heart  is  singing. 

Like  haunting  sounds  that  dwell 

With  soft  emotion 
In  pearly  cavern' d  shell, 
Borne  from  the  ocean, 
Throbbing   in   echoed  pulse  to  distant  billows' 

swelling, 
Their    solemn    melodies     in     mystic     whispers 

telling  :— 
A  mem'ry  of  the  skies, 

In  music  clinging, 
Within  my  fond  heart  lies, 
Forever  singing. 


MY  SONG 


And  though  my  lips  be  mute 

Or  faintly  sighing, 
Bearing  no  outward  fruit 

Of  that  inlying, 
And  though  no  touch  of  fire,  in  words  of  kindling 

glory, 
With    bardic   gift   translate    my    spirit's    silent 

story  : — 
Its  own  true  song  of  life 

In  secret  winging, 
My  heart,  unmoved  by  strife, 
Is  ever  singing. 


MdY  D/IY 


WAKE,  comrades !  Lightly  spring 
From  slumber's  drowsy  thrall! 
Cheerful  hearts  and  voices  bring, 

Responsive  to  our  call. 
Come,  come,  come  merrily,  comrades  all  ! 
With  a  joyous  lay 
To  greet  the  day, 

And  lead  forth  our  bonny  Queen  of  May. 
Crown  her  with  roses,  glowing  buds 

Impearled  with  dew; 
And  scarf  her  bosom  pure  with  braids 

Of  violets  blue; 
The  sceptre,  token  of  her  power, 

A  slender  wand 
Of  fragrant  lilies,  spotless  white, 

Place  in  her  hand, 
As  chosen  queen  of  our  happy  band. 

ii 

Then  haste  to  the  upland  lawn, 
Gemmed  with  the  breath  of  night, 

While  the  silver-footed  dawn 

Comes  dancing  o'er  the  height, 
And  Nature  smiles  in  answering  delight. 


4  MA  Y  DA  Y 

With  lips  as  gay, 
Shout,  shout  away, 
All  hail  to  our  bonny  Queen  of  May! 
On !  lead  her  to  the  throne  of  state — 

The  rustic  chair 
Of  twisted  branches  quaintly  made, 

That  lichens  bear; 
Her  dainty  foot-stool  mosses  be, — 

The  carpet  green 
Where  moonlit  elves  and  flitting  fays 

Erst  danced  unseen, 
In  antic  mirth  with  their  own  fair  queen. 

in 

Let  our  heartfelt  music  swell 

In  chorus  loud  and  deep, 
Wafted  to  the  secret  cell 

Where  sportive  echoes  sleep; 
Till  cheerily  every  woody  steep 
In  mocking  play 
Sweet  homage  pay, 

And  ring  to  our  bonny  Queen  of  May. 
Her  canopy  the  spreading  shade 

Of  stately  oak, 
Whose  hoary  stem  has  braved  the  storm 

And  thunder-stroke, 
Now  garlanded,  like  smiling  age, 

With  honied  vines, — 
The  woodbine's  wealth  and  blushing  grace 

Of  eglantines, 
Blazoned  in  trembling  gold  with  furtive  shines. 


MA  Y  DAY 

IV 

Choicest  posies  hither  bring 
From  rifled  field  or  nook, 
Moist  from  green-enameled  spring 

And  lily-margined  brook, 
Or  formal  plats  that  garden  walls  o'erlook. 
To  the  May-pole  gay, 
Away,  away! 

Then  bear  off  our  bonny  Queen  of  May! 
With  leafy  banners  shedding  sweets 

From  purple  plumes 
Of  lilac  branch,  and  rosy  crests 

Of  chestnut  blooms. 
Emblems  of  innocence  and  joy 

Her  path  bestrew! 
Oh,  may  her  life's  light  footsteps  press 

On  flowers  too, 
That  wear  serenest  tints  of  pleasure's  hue! 


Nimbly,  nimbly  on  the  green, 

Dance  now  and  gaily  sing; 
Hands  entwining  each  between, 
Quickly  form  the  fairy  ring; 
And  drooping  wreaths  like  fragrant  censers  swing. 
Dance,  dance,  dance  away! 
No  foot  may  stay. 

Dance  about  our  bonny  Queen  of  May! 
With  airy  laughter,  jokes  and  wiles 

From  boys  and  girls, 
And  flaunting  ribbons  letting  fall 


6  MAYDAY 

Long  sunny  curls, 
We  trip  the  giddy  circle  round 

With  hearts  of  glee, 
Nor  pause  the  frolic  step,  till  by 

Our  queen  set  free, 
To  cast  our  glowing  tributes  at  her  knee. 

VI 

Like  gazelles  whose  bounding  feet 

O'er  perfumed  prairies  go, 
Seeking  some  beloved  retreat 

In  fertile  valleys  low, 

Where  spring  breathes  soft  and  waters  flow, 
To  wander  and  play 
The  livelong  day, 

We  run  with  our  bonny  Queen  of  May  : 
Some  to  the  fountain's  bubbling  brink 

With  thirsty  lip  ; 
Some  to  the  shady  stream,  their  lines 

To  slyly  dip ; 
To  the  pied  meads  and  clover  fields 

Of  emerald  sheen, 
To  lure  the  bees  and  butterflies 

The  blooms  between, 
Or  oracles  from  sibyl  daisies  glean. 

VII 

Gather,  gather,  rovers  all, 

With  lagging  step  and  slow  ! 

To  rest  in  groves  where  shadows  fall 
That  noon-gleams  never  know,— 
To  the  May-feast  gather  at  the  call ! 


MAY  DAY 

Who'd  stop  to  play,— 

When  called  away 
To  feast  with  our  bonny  Queen  of  May  ? 

Then  ere  we  part,  we'll  saunter  through 

Some  sylvan  glade, 
Or  musky  woodland's  arching  aisles 

Of  mottled  shade  ; 
List  to  wild  minstrelsy  afloat 

On  the  still  air  ; 
Peer  into  ferny  brakes  and  thorns 

For  nestlings  there  ; 
Or  watch  the  squirrel  sport,  or  start  the  hare. 

VIII 

Homeward,  birds  !  On  weary  wing, 

One  lingering  pause  devote, 
To  join  in  grateful  caroling, 

With  latest,  sweetest  note, 
That  haply  may  to  heaven's  portal  float  ; 
For  in  twilight  grey, 
Fast  fades  away 
The  reign  of  our  bonny  Queen  of  May. 

'  Spread  o'er  her  couch,  O  balmy  Sleep, 

Thy  charmed  veil ! 
Let  gentle  Shapes  kind  vigil  keep, 

Till  stars  grow  pale !  ' 
I/) !  now  the  crescent  moon  betrays 

Its  tender  light : 
And  rippling  on  the  dewy  air, 

'  Good  night  !  Good  night ! ' 
Proclaims  our  May-day  revels  ended  quite. 


ON  THE  RHINE 


O  WIFTLY  flows  the  dark  blue  Rhine, 
^     Like  a  Sibyl,  half  divine,  . 
Murmuring,  as  it  glides  along, 
Many  a  weird  and  wondrous  song, 
Red  with  strife  and  strong  with  pride, 
And  mellowed  by  time,  like  the  fiery  wine 
Of  sunny  vineyards  by  its  side  : — 
Songs  of  love,  the  olden  story  ; 
Songs  of  tournay,  war,  and  glory  ; 
Songs  of  age  and  songs  of  youth  ; 
Of  holy  strivings  after  truth, 
And  darkest  deeds  of  hate  or  ruth. 

O  bright  river,  storied  river, 
Siren-tongued,  immortal  Rhine, 
What  entrancing  lays  are  thine  ! 
What  rugged  rhymes  and  dreamy  chimes 
Of  those  heroic,  struggling  times, 
To  listening  ears  dost  thou  deliver  ! 

Once  more  upon  thy  shining  breast, 
In  fancy's  magic  colors  drest, 


ON    THE    RHINE 

Oh,  let  the  mirrored  outline  rest 
Of  wooded  hills  and  castled  steep, 
Embattled  towers  and  frowning  keep  ; 
Let  blazoned  banners  proudly  float 
O'er  bold  escarp  and  guarded  moat ; 
Bid  Time  restore  dismantled  halls, 
The  ivied  arch,  the  crumbled  walls  ; 
And  'mid  thy  vines  and  fruity  bowers, 
And  waving  fields  and  crowding  flowers, 
Bring  back  the  pageant,  martial  host, 
The  battle  cry  and  lordly  boast, 
The  steel-clad  warrior  stout  and  brave, 
The  glancing  spear  and  flashing  glaive, 
The  war-steed  decked  with  housings  bright, 
And  noble  bearing  of  the  knight, 
In  gallant  deeds  of  high  emprise 
To  win  the  smile  of  ladies'  eyes. 

Sing  on,  sing  on,  thou  stately  stream  ! 
The  artist's  love,  the  poet's  dream  ! 
Sing  of  fair  maids  and  bandits  dun, 
Of  spectres  grim  and  cloistered  nun, 
Of  giant  heroes,  empires  won, 
And  precious  blood  on  every  hand 
Shed  for  the  love  of  Fatherland  ! 
Awake  earth's  echoes  far  and  wide 
With  lofty  hymns,  first  sung  beside 
The  cradle  of  an  Infant  Truth 
That  strangled  serpents  in  its  youth, 
And  whose  maturing  strength  has  brought 
Freedom  to  man's  aspiring  thought ! 


I0  ON    THE    RHINE 

Sing  on  !  and  let  me  catch  the  sigh 
Of  dying  years  that  round  thee  lie, 
The  spirit  and  the  old  emotion 
Of  melodies  that  with  thee  fly 
To  mingle  with  Oblivion's  ocean. 


THE  LOST  PLEIAD 


MEROPE),  child  of  light,  why  dost  thou  haste 
From     realms    where    thou    hast    dwelt 

serenely  chaste  ? 
Why,  ah  why  yearn 
To  view  life's  turbulent  sad  sights, 
And  share,  with  human  passion,  blights 
That  chill  or  burn  ? 

Seeking  a  mortal  spouse  in  earth's  dark  maze, 
Doth  not  some  vision  on  thy  steadfast  gaze 

Forboding  wake? 
And  with  dim  prophecy  of  pain — 
From  love  unsatisfied  or  slain — 
Thy  purpose  shake  ? 

Thy  star  grows  pale,  where,  in  a  golden  throng, 
Thy  sister  Pleiads  wake  celestial  song  ; 

For  nevermore, 

Amid  that  shimmering,  star-linked  band, 
Shalt  thou,  Earth-bound  Merope,  stand 
As  heretofore. 


THE  SINQER 


A  LADY  sat  within  her  bower 
Once  on  a  day, — 
Lily-fair,  in  the  golden  hour 

Of  youth's  sweet  May  ; 
But  brighter  than  day's  golden  shower, 
And  sweeter  than  spring's  opening  flower, 
Dwelt  in  her  breast  a  latent  power, — 

Fatal  alway  ! 
An  altar  and  a  tomb  the  dower 

Of  Passion's  sway. 


ii 


From  the  pure  fountains  of  her  heart, 

So  deep  and  strong, 
Came  gushing,  her  ripe  lips  apart, 

The  tide  of  song  : 
Hymning  of  joy  and  life  and  art, 
As  thoughts  to  forms  of  beauty  start, 
Or  playful  fancies  glance  and  dart, — 

Like  doves  that  throng 
On  white  wings  fluttering  to  depart 

And  flight  prolong. 


THE    SINGER  13 

in 

Each  passing  footstep  lingered  there, 

So  sweetly  fell 
That  lofty  music,  with  a  rare 

Melodious  spell : 

Easing  the  burdened  mind  of  care, 
Soothing  the  anguish  of  despair, 
Teaching  the  suffering  soul  to  bear 

Or  grief  dispel : — 
So  prodigal  its  strength  to  share, 

Its  joy  to  tell. 

IV 

Till  faltering  ceased  those  anthems  clear ; 

As  ebbing  streams 
Pause,  stilled,  when  tidal  pulses  near. 

(O  rosy  dreams  ! 
In  whose  illusive  atmosphere 
So  radiantly  hopes  appear, 
That  vanish  with  a  sigh,  a  tear, 

In  misty  gleams  !) 
Love's  presence  wakes  a  tender  fear 

That  rapture  seems. 


With  outstretched  arms  and  bosom  bare 

To  the  pure  light, 
She  softly  wooes  that  phantom  fair 

Of  new  delight, — 
For  heart  of  heart  craves  equal  share  ; 


i4  THE    SINGER 

When  lo,  a  shadow  falling  there, 
She  only  clasps  the  empty  air ; 

And  lost  to  sight, 
The  vision  fades  on  her  despair, — 

Love's  early  blight ! 


VI 


But  the  pent  song  that  erst  was  still — 

(Alas,  that  grief 
Had  power  its  sunny  flow  to  chill 

In  unbelief!) — 

Burst  through  the  bonds  of  baffled  will 
With  richer  melody  to  thrill, 
And  sweeter,  deeper  sense  instill. 

(Just  so  the  leaf 
Is  shed,  when  nectared  juices  fill 

Their  fruity  sheath.) 


VII 


Yet  mingling  tones  of  sadness  came, 

Unheard  before  : 
The  fainting  cry  of  want  and  pain 

Without  the  door, 
The  craving  else  than  empty  fame, 
The  shrinking  from  a  touch  of  blame, 
The  thirst  of  a  consuming  flame, — 

Ah,  how  deplore 
Those  shuddering  discords  that  proclaim 

The  reft  heart's  lore  ! 


THE    SINGER  15 

VIII 

Till  with  soft  show  of  courtesy 

And  wooing  bland,— 
(So  weds  the  secret,  treacherous  sea 

The  smiling  land)— 
A  stately  form  on  bended  knee 
Proffers  the  chalice  that  should  be 
A  charmed  draught,  her  song  to  free 

From  sorrow's  brand. 
(The  luring  hand  of  Destiny 

Who  may  withstand  ? ) 

IX 

But  oh,  her  bowed  lips  only  greet 

A  bitter  taste  ! 
And  heart-stung  by  her  love's  defeat,— 

Recking  no  waste 
That  makes  a  sacrifice  complete, — 
Into  that  cup,  woe's  last  retreat, 
She  throws  her  life!  (Love's  gains  are  fleet!) 

Pouring,  thus  graced, 
The  rich  libation  at  his  feet 

With  fatal  haste. 


The  light  has  faded  from  the  west; 

Come  the  dark  hour  ; 
Death  sits  a  grim  and  silent  guest 

Within  the  bower. 
Her  white  hands  folded  on  her  breast, 


16  THE    SINGER 


snow-wreaths  from  an  Alpine  crest, 
The  lovely  minstrel  lies  at  rest,  — 

A  broken  flower  ! 
At  peace  for  aye  the  heart  oppressed 

By  passion's  power. 


XI 


But  that  high  song's  immortal  sound 

Still  echoes,  heard 
Above  the  din  of  life's  dull  round, 

And  souls  are  stirred : 

The  brow  of  thought  with  rapture  crowned, 
And  hearts  from  chains  of  earth  unbound, 
When  with  electric  touch  profound 

Some  burning  word 
Sheds  with  its  light  a  joy  new-found 

On  hope  deferred! 


THE  SECRET  Q/IIRN 


A  BOVE  the  grave  of  perished  joys 
•*•*'     And  daring  hopes  untimely  slain, 
There  rises,  stone  by  stone,  a  Cairn, 

Secreted  in  the  heart's  domain ; 
Where  pilgrim  thoughts,  through  weary  years, 
Oft  pause  with  unavailing  tears. 

The  flaunting  trains  of  worldly  pride 
Pass  by  afar  and  know  it  not ;    o  .- 

No  warring  passions  linger  there 
To  desecrate  the  hallowed  spot 

Where  souls  bereaved,  with  mournful  song, 

Unceasing  requiems  prolong. 

L,ove  only  waits  and  vigil  keeps, 

Through  the  long  night  of  grief's  dark  hours; 
Till  from  oblivion's  gathering  mould 

Spring  memory's  amaranthine  flowers, 
And  faith's  pure  dawn,  with  promise  bright, 
Touches  the  Secret  Cairn  with  light. 


THE  TRU/INT  LOR& 


HK  cries  to  his  horse,  as  with  loosened  rein 
He  spurs  and  bounds  o'er  the  barren. 

plain, — 

'On,  Selim,  on  !  high-hearted  steed, 
That  never  yet  failed  me  at  my  need  ! 
Miles  upon  miles  before  us  lie, 
Now  prove  your  mettle  and  onward  fly." 

The  rider  bethinks  him  of  his  home, — 
In  an  evil  hour  he  had  willed  to  roam, — 
Of  its  sparkling  founts,  its  vine-hung  bowers, 
Its  alleys  green,  its  fruits  and  flowers; 
Of  his  fair  young  wife,  of  a  voice  unheard, 
Of  the  charm  and  joy  of  a  loving  word. 

But  none  of  these  to  his  restless  heart 
Could  the  balm  of  sweet  content  impart. 
He  longed  for- action  and  power  and  state, 
To  vie  with  men  and  to  war  with  fate  ; 
And  so  it  befell  on«  a  weary  day, 
He  mounted'  his  Arab  and  rode  away. 

Then  days  and  months  and  years  were  told1,, 
And  the  fervor  of  early  love  grew  cold  ; 
Till  in  a  vision  of  import  dire,, 


THE    TRUANT  LORD  19 

An  angel  kindled  remorseful  fire  ; 

And  his  heart  cried  out  with  craving  pain 

For  love  and  the  sweets  of  home  again. 

Though  brave  the  steed  and  swift  his  flight, 
His  flanks  with  red  and  his  breast  with  white 
Are  with  blood  and  foam  bedabbled  o'er, 
Ere  breathless  he  stops  at  his  master's  door. 
No  loving  smile,  no  welcoming  word, 
By  the  truant  Lord  is  seen  or  heard. 

On  a  bed  of  slime,  unmoved  and  dim, 
The  water  sleeps  at  the  fountain's  rim; 
Where  beauty  of  art  with  nature  vied, 
The  newt  and  the  slug  in  silence  glide  ; 
Ungarnered  fruits  decay  and  drop  ; 
Thistles  and  weeds  are  summer's  crop. 

The  spider  has  woven  her  silken  lace 
To  drape  the  portal's  dingy  face  ; 
Over  ruined  garden  and  empty  hall, 
Behold  !  there  hangs  a  funereal  pall 
For  hope  departed  and  love  betrayed 
And  a  broken  heart  in  the  tomb  low-laid. 


TlNTERN 


stands  in  ruin  Tintern's    hallowed 
-*•         fane, 
Where  silence,  awe  and  desolation  reign  ! 

Through  roofless  walls,  here  ages  yet  entire, 
No  longer  heavenward  points  the  lofty  spire  ; 
Its  deep  foundations,  too,  arched  o'er  in  vain, 
Return  with  slow  decay  to  earth  again. 
Some  stately  columns,  time  awhile  defied, 
Still  rear  their  ivied  heads  with  seeming  pride  ; 
Whilst  others,  fallen  from  their  Gothic  state, 
With  flowers  o'ergrown,  half  hide  their  humbled 
fate. 

Through  windows  once  with  pictured  story  bright, 
No  more  the  morning  plays  with  changeful  light ; 
But  clustering  vines  the  casements  darkly  shade 
With  graceful  fringe  of  tendrils  overlaid  ; 
And  moss  and  lichens,  in  each  crevice  caught, 
Quaint  traceries  of  arabesque  have  wrought. 
Tall  ferns  that  in  green  tangled  tresses  stream  ; 
Pale  wall-flowers  that  like  golden  censers  gleam, 
Wafting  their  fragrant  incense  on  the  breeze  ; 
Thistles  and  grasses  in  a  living  frieze, 
Together  with  the  ivy's  curtained  flow, — 


TIN  TERN  ABBE  Y  2 1 

A  solemn,  soft  and  checkered  shadow  throw 
Along  the  dew-damp  aisle  with  turf  o'erspread, 
Where  once  the  pavement  holy  footsteps  led. 

Rude  pious-sculptured  fragments  lie  around, 
And  Death's  denoting  tablets  mark  his  ground ; 
Whilst  tombs  to  rank  and  friendship  passed  away, 
Now  unremembered,  moulder  in  decay. 
The  very  names  that  once  were  known  to  fame, 
Or  cherished  in  fond  hearts  like  sacred  flame, 
Though  graved  on  marble  by  the  hand  of  care, 
Have  vanished  like  a  breath  upon  the  air. 

Yon  stairway,  which,  by  fearful  footing  traced, 
Still  hangs  almost  in  air  through  years  of  waste, 
Once  coursed  secure  the  turret's  circled  height, 
Where  lonely  monk,  in  prayer  th'  enduring  night, 
With  contrite  heart  essayed  and  bitter  tears 
To  lull  remorse  or  soothe  fanatic  fears. 
Or  there  perhaps  some  deep,  ambitious  mind, 
Mysterious  vigils  kept,  in  thought  sublimed  ; 
Aimed  by  forbidden  art  and  magic  spell 
The  star-stampt  characters  of  night  to  tell  ; 
But  secrets  dire  perused  of  hidden  fate 
Still  left  the  lonely  heart  more  desolate. 

No  tinkling  bell,  nor  organ's  swelling  sound, 
Nor  chanting  voice  breaks  silence  oft  profound. 
The  screech-owl's  vesper  cry  alone  is  heard, 
Or  matin  music  of  some  flitting  bird. 
No  joy -bells  thrill  the  golden  morning  air 
With  bridal  summons  for  the  young  and  fair ; 


2  2  TIN  TERN  ABBE  Y 

No  pealing  chimes  of  Merrie  Christmas  tell, 
Nor  solemn  tolling  of  the  passing  knell ; 
But  summer  breezes  mournful  music  wake, 
And  wintry  winds  more  awful  dirges  make, 
When  flooding  rains  like  tears  unnumbered  fall, 
Or  drifting  snow-wreaths  spread  a  ghastly  pall. 

And  yet  within  this  desecrated  fane, 

L,ike  lingering  perfume,  hallowed  things  remain  : 

The  dew  of  contrite  tears  ;  the  breath  of  prayer 

That  once  exhaled  upon  its  sacred  air ; 

The  dust  of  holy  men  and  weary  life, 

That  here  laid  down  their  burdens,  ceased  their 

strife, 

And  'neath  the  shelter  of  a  common  sod 
Found  peace  within  the  bosom  of  their  God. 


ON  A  FlEQE  OF  WASHINGTON'S  COFFIN 


A  RELIC — dumb,  yet  oh  !  how  eloquent — 
•fc"^-    This  fragment  of  the  lowly,  narrow  bed 

Of  him1  for  whom  a  nation's  tears  were  shed  ! 
Who,  in  the-  hour  of  need,  his  genius  lent 
To  heal  his' country's  wounds, — war's  fury  spent; 

And  having  patriot  hosts  to  conquest  led, 

In  peace,  unsullied  by  ambition,  spread 
Fresh  lustre  on  Free  People's  Government. 

Less  frail  this  remnant  of  the  forest  tree 
Than  mortal  shell  now  crumbled  into  dust ; 
But  noble  deeds  and  truth  and  honor  live 
Immortal :  and  till  time  shall  cease  to  be, 
The  name  of  Washington  to  all  men  must 
Be  hallowed  and  the  hope  of  freedom  give.. 


THE  STdRS  /IND  STRIFES 

A  BAU,AD  OF  THE   FIRST  VICTIM   OF  THE 
CIVII,  WAR 


blow  that  lowered  Sumter's  flag 
-*-   Awoke  a  slumbering  fire 
That  gathered  lightnings  on  its  path 

To  weld  a  people's  ire. 
That  blow,  aimed  at  a  Nation's  life, 

Struck  every  loyal  heart, 

And  taught  the  scheming  partisan 

The  patriot's  nobler  part; 

Respect  for  just,  enlightened  rule, 

Obedience  to  L,aw,  — 
Voice  of  his  country's  majesty 

That  Anarchy  shall  awe  ; 
To  keep  the  Starry  Flag  aloft, 

Unsullied  and  unshorn, 
A  beacon-hope  on  Freedom's  height 

For  ages  yet  unborn  ; 

And  more  than  life  to  prize  that  bond 
Whose  wise  control  unites 

The  strength  of  numbers  with  the  pride 
Of  individual  rights  ; 


THE  STARS  AND  STRIPES         25 

Which  knows  not  East,  West,  North  nor  South, 

Save  one  united  Whole  : 
One  name,  one  past,  one  destiny, 

One  body  and  one  soul. 

A  brooding  horror  filled  the  pause, 

Dread  herald  of  the  storm, 
Ere  the  avenging  hand  was  raised 

Or  severed  thought  could  form  ; 
Till  burst  the  war-cloud's  pent  up  wrath, 

And  borne  from  hill  to  shore, 
A  Nation's  mortal  cry  went  forth  : — 
"  Onward  !  through  Baltimore  !" 

"  Columbia  calls  her  loyal  sons 

To  ward  off  Treason's  guile  ; 
To  quell  the  parricidal  rage 

That  would  her  soil  defile  ; 
To  guard  her  stately  Capitol 

From  the  invading  tread 
Of  rebel  children,  who  would  pour 

Dishonor  on  her  head  ! ' ' 

Then  from  the  workshop  and  the  field, 

The  anvil  and  the  loom, 
The  press,  the  studio,  the  school, 

The  mart  and  counting-room, 
Came  heart  to  heart,  like  brethren  true 

Their  birthright  to  defend, 
The  heirs  of  freedom  bought  with  blood, 

Their  own  free  blood  to  spend. 


26          THE  STARS  AND  STRIPES 

Foremost  in  answer  to  that  call, 

Among  the  loyal  ones 
With  noble  indignation  fired, 

Came  stern  New  England's  sons. 
They  came  in  faith  but  to  defend 

The  Nation's  Temple-door ; 
No  order  yet  to  draw  the  sword, 

But  "On  !  through  Baltimore  !  " 

Too  honest  all  to  apprehend 

Rebellion's  brutal  power, 
Mob-force,  that  met  them  shamelessly 

In  that  unguarded  hour  ; 
Assailed  with  missiles  rude  and  vile, 

And  shot  like  beasts  of  prey  : — 
Such  welcome  Baltimore  bestowed 

On  that  fair  April  day. 

O  city  of  historic  pride, 

Wipe  off  that  bloody  stain  ! 
Untarnished  raise  the  civic  shield 

With  loyalty  again  ! 
Bright  gem  that  sparkles  on  the  brow 

Of  haughty  Maryland, 
For  Freedom  and  for  Union  shine 

Among  the  starry  band  ! 

Where  thickest  fall  the  dastard  blows, 
First  fruit  of  Treason's  hate, 

A  wounded  youth  unnoticed  lies  : 
Achieved  a  hero's  fate  ! 


THE  STARS  AND  STRIPES         27 

A  solemn  calm  to  pain  succeeds, 

He  watches  from  afar 
The  flag  he  no  more  may  defend, 

So  long  his  guiding  star. 

When  lo  !  as  though  the  parting  soul 

Would  bear  to  heaven's  expanse 
Some  shadow  of  its  Past,  recalled 

In  one  supernal  glance, — 
Sweet  visions  minister  delight, 

While  death  holds  revel  there  : 
The  pageant  of  his  guiltless  life 

Seems  painted  on  the  air. 

New  Hampshire's  wooded  heights  !  O  joy — 

The  sweets  of  home  once  more  ! 
The  swallows  building  in  the  eaves 

Above  the  cottage  door  ; 
The  rustic  garden  where  he  watched 

The  resurrected  seed, — 
That  oracle  of  Nature's  love 

Which  he  who  runs  may  read  ; 

The  ancient  musket  on  the  wall, 

Revered  with  childish  awe, 
His  gallant  grandsire  once  had  borne 

At  glorious  Chippewa  ; 
The  old  man's  stirring  tales  of  war 

Beside  the  winter  hearth, 
Of  victories  and  moral  throes 

That  gave  a  nation  birth; 


28          THE  STARS  AND  STRIPES 

His  boyish  aspirations  for 

Some  greatness  undefined, 
His  trivial  faults,  privations,  joys, 

Are  strangely  brought  to  mind  r 
How,  when  the  daily  task  was  done, 

In  some  secluded  nook 
His  country's  history  he  conned 

From  the  long-treasured  book  ; 

How  to  the  drum  and  fife's  glad  sound 

His  heart  would  wildly  beat, 
As  proudly  near  the  village  corps 

He  trod  the  grass-grown  street ; 
How  sprang  the  hot,  unconscious  tears 

To  eyes  unused  to  weep, 
When  o'er  those  native  skies  he  saw 

The  Flag  of  Freedom  sweep  ; 

And  how,  when  war's  imperious  call 

Disturbed  this  dreamy  life, 
He  woke  to  manhood,  joined  the  ranks, 

And  parted  for  the  strife. 
And  then  his  little  brother's  wish, 

Half  sorrow  and  half  pride. — 
' '  O  sister,  would  I  were  a  man, 

To  fight  by  Jamie's  side  !" 

That  sister's  artless  vanity 
To  see  his  martial  grace ; 

The  tearless  pallor,  like  a  veil, 
Spread  o'er  his  mother's  face  ; 


THE  STARS  AND  STRIPES         29 

Her  last  fond  look,  her  parting  words— 

"My  son,  be  true  and  brave  ! " — 
When  to  the  country's  treasury 
Her  Widow's  Mite  she  gave. 

But  memory  fades  with  ebbing  life, 

And  instinct  guides  the  way 
To  drag  his  failing  limbs  beyond 

The  tumult  of  the  fray. 
A  humble  shop  is  near,  he  gains 

At  last  a  shelter  there, 
Where  pity  wakes  and  gentle  hands 

Bestow  a  Christian  care. 

But  one  stands  by  with  sullen  brow 

And  cold,  embittered  heart, 
Who  calls  himself  a  "  Southerner/' 

And  takes  a  traitor's  part; 
Who  falsely  claims  secession's  right 

The  Union  to  destroy, 
And  looks  with  sectional  disdain 

Upon  the  "  Yankee"  boy. 

To  him  unknown  the  generous  glow 

That  fired  that  patriot  breast, 
Its  simple  faith — Obedience 

To  loyalty's  behest ; 
A  selfish  policy  he  knew, 

The  partisan's  poor  lore  ; 
And  rudely  questioned  and  rebuked — 

This  man  of  Baltimore. 


30          THE  STARS  AND  STRIPES 

' '  Unlucky  boy  !  what  brought  you  here 

To  face  the  brunt  of  war  ? 
The  workshop  or  the  school,  methinks, 

Were  more  befitting  far  ; 
Or  mother's  chiding  hand  to  curb 

A  vanity  so  mad  : — 
Say,  was  it  for  the  *  hireling's  pay  ? ' 

What  brought  you  here,  my  lad  ?  " 

The  youthful  hero,  rallying 

His  fast  departing  breath, 
Uplifts  a  pallid  brow  where  hang 

The  icy  beads  of  death  ; 
The  radiance  of  a  heavenly  smile 

Played  o'er  his  ghastly  cheek, 
As  thrice  his  faltering  lips  essayed 

The  proud  reply  to  speak. 

Forth  from  his  wide  and  filmy  eye 
There  flashed  a  sudden  fire  ; 

One  last  great  throb  his  true  heart  gave, 
As  woke  the  old  desire. 

Then,  as  he  sank — to  rise  no  more — 
Upon  his  gory  bed, 

In  thrilling,  sweet,  exultant  tone, 
"  The  Stars  and  Stripes  /"he  said. 


A  CENTENNIAL  ODE 

JULY  4,   1876 


/~^OL,UMBIA  !  like  some  goddess  newly  shrined 
^-s     In  Time's  emblazoned  hall,  thou'st  made 

thy  name 
A  talisman  of  hope  for  faith  to  bind 

Above  the  wounds  of  nations  and  their  shame  ! 

Thy  banner,  Freedom's  glorious  oriflame, 
Hath  borne  to  many  a  land  o'er  ocean's  bound 

A  blessing  with  the  triumph  of  thy  fame, 
And  wakened  in  man's  heart  a  joy  profound, 
Where'er  thy  watchword,  "  liberty, "  was  heard 
to  sound. 

ii 

Quick  with  regenerate  force,  thou  wert  a  Bud 

To  be  engrafted  on  the  virgin  years  ; 
A  new  Evangel,  written  with  the  blood 

Of  trodden  peoples  and  their  children's  tears  ; 

A  Sign  portentous  waking  tyrants'  fears  ; 
A  Haven  made  for  Pilgrim  feet  that  fled 

The  cruel  barriers  Superstition  rears  : — 
Star  of  the  West,  thy  kindling  radiance  led 
To  Freedom's  cradled  hope,  and  holy  influence 
shed! 


32  A  CENTENNIAL  ODE 

in 

The  tangled  forest,  the  unpeopled  wild  — 

Or  peopled  only  with  a  savage  race  — 
Were   braved    and    conquered,   nature's    frowns 

beguiled, 

Until  the  desert  bloomed  with  every  grace. 
Danger  and  want  to  free,  full  life  gave  place  ; 
And  faith's  endurance,  life's  heroic  toils, 
Gave  strength  to  growth  which  now  moves  on 

apace, 

Laden  with  wisdom's  wealth  and  nature's  spoils, 
From    whose    enlightened    bulwarks   ignorance 
recoils. 

IV 


Pride  and  pompous  Ceremonial  pause 
Kre  they  decry  the  rudeness  of  thy  youth, 
Or  curl  the  haughty  lip  of  scorn,  because 
Thy  monuments  historic  are,  forsooth, 
Not  yet  embellished  by  Time's  gnawing  tooth  ; 
For  thou  hast  reared  a  pharos  on  thy  shore, 

The  Light  of  Freedom,  nature's  sacred  truth, 
Where  panting  slaves  and  .exiles  sad  and  sore 
Shall  feel  oppression's  goad  and  burdens  never- 
more ! 

v 

Thy  temple  doors  have  opened  to  the  world 
A  sanctuary  for  enfranchised  Mind  ; 

Beneath  thy  starry  flag,  in  peace  unfurled,?' 
Trophies  of  industry  and  art  are  twined  ; 
Just  laws  and  equal  rights  the  fasces  bind  ; 


A  CENTENNIAL  ODE  33 

There  in  one  universal  brotherhood 
All  nationalities  a  home  may  find, 
The  fruits  of  liberty — their  daily  food — 
May  gather  and  enjoy,  if  rightly  understood. 

VI 

The  treasures  of  primeval  days  are  stored 

In   earth's   kind   breast   throughout   thy  vast 

domains  ; 
From  Plenty's  horn  a  lavish  sweetness  poured 

On  fruitful  valleys  and  wide  grassy  plains  ; 

While  o'er  blue  lakes  and  winding  river  veins 
A  spirit  of  ethereal  beauty  bends, 

O'er  the  steep  cataract's  abysses  reigns, 
On  snow-clad  mounts  and  giant  groves  descends, 
And  grandeur's  grace  to  Nature's  wilder  aspects 
lends. 

VII 

And  many  a  name  of  hero  and  of  sage, 
Serene  in  peace,  in  war  still  undismayed, 

Illuminates  thy  brief  historic  page. 

The  name  of  Washington,  with  pride  displayed 
On  thy  emblazoned  shield,  a  shrine  hath  made 

In  every  land  where  an  aspiring  soul 
Its  sacrifice  on  freedom's  altar  laid. 

Long  may  that  hallowed  name,  while  cycles  roll, 

Be  cherished  and    thy    sons'    ambitious    aims 
control! 

VIII 

The  fire  of  war's  dissension  quenched — a  flame 
By  error  kindled  and  by  passion  fed — 


34  A  CENTENNIAL   ODE 

Aggressive  hands,  once  raised  with  deadly  aim, 
In  friendship  clasp  ;    grief's  mutual  tears  are 

shed — 
All  wrongs  forgotten  of  the  buried  dead — 

O'er  many  a  grave  of  brother  once  a  foe  : 
Embittered  hearts  that  once  in  discord  bled, 

Now  gladly  throb  with  patriot  pride,  and  know 

The  blessings  union,  peace  and  liberty  bestow. 

IX 

Thy  grateful  sons,  Columbia,  greet  thee  now 
First  hallowed  by  a  century  of  years  ! 

Years  whose  immortal  fruits  shall  yet  endow 
Humanity  with  youthful  strength  that  cheers, 
And  moral  beauty,  as  new  light  appears. 

And  though  the  mazy  paths  of  truth  elude 
Man's  groping  mind  awhile,  though  error  rears 

Its  hydra-head  in  vile  solicitude, — 

Years  of  unfettered  thought  may  lead  to  Perfect 
Good. 


A  century  of  chartered  freedom  thine — 

The  first  imperial  stamp  by  ages  prest; 
Victorious  bays  and  peaceful  olives  twine 

Thy  starry  diadem's  refulgent  crest. 

Thy  pedestal  a  New  World,  thou  dost  rest 
With  firm  feet  on  a  mighty  continent, 

A  boundless  ocean  laving  either  breast, 
Thine  eyes  upon  a  glorious  future  bent : 
Humanity's  Ideal !  Freedom's  Embodiment ! 


D4LIL4H 

ON  SEEING  STORY'S  STATUE 


IS  done  !  the  deed  of  treachery  and  guile 
That  robs    the    mighty    warrior   of    his 

strength  ! 

His  shorn  locks  lie  in  all  their  vaunted  length 
Beneath  thy  feet,  the  spoil  of  many  a  wile  ; 
And  gold  thy  cruel  fair  hands  doth  defile, 
Thou  type  of  perjured  woman's  evil  ways, 
Who  while  caressing  secretly  betrays, 
And  stabs  at  life  and  honor  with  a  smile  ! 

Upon  thy  brow,  now  passionless  and  cold, 

As  though  remorse  stirred  in  thy  stony  heart, 

The  moral  of  thy  guilty  tale  is  told 

In  conscious  shame  :  —  a  germ  of  heavenly  mould, 
Left,  ere  thy  better  angel  did  depart, 
To  bloom  in  pity  there,  immortalized  by  Art. 


FLORENCE 


ANGEly  of  help,  by  holy  fires  annealed, 
Whose  charmed  name  links  with  Italia' s 

flower 

The  wakeful  minstrel  of  the  rosy  bower, 
How  oft  thy  voice  like  music's  balm  hath  healed 
Despair  and  anguish  death  alone  had  sealed, 
When  e'en  thy  shadow's  sympathetic  power, 
Through  thy  sweet  mercies,  soothed  the  dying 

hour 
Of  heroes,  and  their  fainting  hearts  were  steeled. 

Then  like  the  Swan- White  Maiden's  fairy  spell, 
The  "precious  gems" — of  thought  by  truth 

made  bold, 
The  "  golden  rings  " — of  love's  encircling  fold, 

In  countless  blessings  from  thy  presence  fell ; 
And  in  the  vital  warmth  thy  good  deeds  shed, 
Sprang  roses  whereso'er  thy  footsteps  led. 


THE  BRIDE 


HER  bridal  robes  all  pearly  white, 
Of  silvery,  silken  gleams, 
Seem  luminous  as  fleecy  clouds 

That  veil  the  moon's  chaste  beams  ; 
And  filmy  laces  fall  like  foam 

That  follows  in  her  wake, 
As  to  the  sacred  shrine  she  glides, 
Love's  plight  to  give  and  take. 

With  eyes  like  violets  bathed  in  dew, 

Downcast  in  maiden  shame, 
And  fluttering  heart  impressed  with  awe 

And  fears  without  a  name  ; 
While  orange-blooms,  the  virgin  crown, 

Their  fragrant  breath  exhale 
Above  a  fair  unsullied  brow 

And  cheeks  as  lilies  pale. 

As  on  some  far  rock-columned  shore 

Resounding  billows  swell, 
And  breaking  die,  soft  as  the  sigh 

Within  an  ocean  shell, — 
The  organ's  deep  melodious  tides 

In  wavy  raptures  rise, 


38  THE  BRIDE 

And  choral  voices  thrill  and  melt 
I^ike  sounds  from  Paradise. 

With  heart  to  heart,  for  bliss  or  bale, 

The  youthful  spouses  stand  ; 
The  golden  circlet  of  the  wife 

Gleams  on  the  bride's  fair  hand  ; 
Her  pledge  of  love,  life's  freight  of  hope, 

In  trust  supreme  is  given  : — 
Oh,  may  that  vow  be  blest  on  earth 

And  registered  in  heaven  ! 


THE  /IPPLE  WOMAN'S  STORY 


WILL  you  buy  an  apple,  madam?  Here's  a 
pippin  bright  as  gold. 
Better  never  ripened, — and   many  a  fine  one  I 

have  sold. 
Here's  red  and  russet,  less  beautiful,  but  just  as 

sweet  and  sound. 

Thank  you,  lady.     L,ittle  Miss  will  have  a  treat 
now,  I'll  be  bound. 

It  warms  my  heart  to  see  her  beaming  face,  so 

pure  and  mild. 
"Tis  a  glimpse  of  heaven, — the  darling  !     Be  not 

afraid,  dear  child ; 
Though  I'm  like  the  sere  and  blasted  tree,  it  was 

not  always  so ; 
I  once  was  ruddy  and  straight  and  strong, — a 

long,  long  time  ago. 

And  I'm  so  accustomed  to  it  now,  I  quite  forget 

the  shame 
Of  my  scars  and  crooked  limbs.     True,  ma'am, 

misfortune  is  no  blame  ; 
I've  never  looked  upon  a  glass  since  I  learnt  to 

look  within, 
And  face  the  ugliness  found  there, — for  ah,  who 

is  free  from  sin  ? 


40  THE  APPLE  WOMAN 

Yes,  I'm  growing  old,  dear  lady,  shall  be  sixty- 
nine  to-morrow. 

I've  had  sore  trials  in  my  time,  too,  heaps  upon 
heaps  of  sorrow ; 

Yet  I  don't  repine,  there's  nothing  now  can  grieve 
me  evermore, 

And  I'm  thankful  I  have  not  to  beg  my  bread 
from  door  to  door. 

Tell  you  about  it?     Yes,   I  will.     'T  is  a  dreary 

tale  of  woe, 
That  now   seems  like  a  troubled   dream,   for   it 

happened  long  ago. 
You  can  scarce  believe,  my  dear,  that  I  was  once 

a  pretty  girl, 
With  eyes  as  bright  and  blue  as  yours  and   as 

many  a  golden  curl. 

I  was  a  loved  and  happy  child,  though  reared  on 

plainest  food, 
And  my  home  the  humblest  cottage  that  in  our 

village  stood. 
No  lighter  step  than  mine  was  seen,  no  merrier 

voice  was  heard, 
In   the  meadows  where   I   tossed   the   hay   and 

caroled  like  a  bird. 

I  had  many  suitors, — and  might  have  married 

better  to  be  sure  ; 
Yet  I  was  rich  in  my  Harry's  love ;  fond  hearts 

are  never  poor. 


THE  APPLE  WOMAN  41 

Father  and  mother — they  'd  only  me — I  left  for  him 

I  chose ; 
And  parting  was  my  heart's  first  grief,  but  so 

God's  order  goes. 

Folks  said  we  were  a  handsome  pair.     A  proud 

and  joyous  wife, 
I   little   thought  my   path  would  lead   through 

years  of  lonely  life. 
We  left  the  village  for  the  town  for  the  sake  of 

Harry's  trade : — 
A  ship-carpenter,  my  dear,  and  a  good  livelihood 

he  made. 

Snugly  and  happily  we  lived,  as  small  comforts 
round  us  grew. 

A  blessing  rested  on  us  then, — twice  a  mother's 
joy  I  knew. 

The  pretty  ways  of  baby,  the  prattle  of  our 
chubby  lad, 

A  tidy  hearth  and  a  loving  smile,  made  the  home- 
welcome  glad. 

One  evening,  keeping  holiday,  we  went  to  see  the 

play, 
Leaving  our  blooming  baby  Rose  with  a  neighbor 

by  the  way. 
Ann  had  a  nursling  of  her  own  ;    there  seemed 

no  reason  for  regret : 
Yet  I  had  misgivings,   and  my  lips  with  baby's 

tears  were  wet. 


42  THE  APPLE  WOMAN 

So  I  wearied  of  the  mirth  and  glare  ;  and  at 
nature's  mute  demand, 

More  than  once  my  tingling  bosom  seemed  to  feel 
her  playful  hand. 

Silent  I  sat,  and  o'er  me  came  a  shuddering,  name- 
less fear, 

As  mournful  sounds  like  sobs  and  cries  seemed  to 
murmur  in  my  ear. 

The  curtain  fell,  we  hurried  forth.  Then,  like  a 
surging  ocean, 

The  clang  of  bells,  the  cry  of  "  Fire!"  the  engine's 
rushing  motion, 

Grew  louder  as  we  neared  our  home,  lighted  by 
lurid  flashes, 

Alas !  to  find  a  blackened  ruin,  a  heap  of  smoulder- 
ing ashes. 

Clasping  our  boy,  my  husband  parted  from  me  in 

the  throng. 

I,  thinking  of  baby's  peril  only,  hurried  along. 
Unmindful  of  the  fiery  rain — oh,  'twas  like  the 

day  of  doom  ! — 
I  reached  the  burning  tenement  and  flew  up  to 

Annie's  room. 

Dizzied  and  blind,  I  searched  and  called  despair- 
ingly in  vain; 

Stunned  by  terror  for  a  moment,  then  a  prey  to 
doubt  and  pain ; 

Till  a  sharp  cry,  an  infant's  wail,  my  groping 
footsteps  led  : — 


THE  APPLE  WOMAN  43 

From  the   floor  I   snatched   the  darling  to  my 
breast  and  would  have  fled. 

But  oh,  the  stairs  had  vanished !    in  their  place 

great  bursts  of  flame, 
Mixed  with  hissing  streams  and  stifling  gusts, 

nearer  and  nearer  came. 
Cries   of   horror   from   the   crowd  answered   my 

voice,  with  anguish  keen, 
When   at  the  window,  'gainst  the  light,  mother 

and  babe  were  seen. 

Daring    arms    were    stretched    and    caught    the 

precious  little  life  I  bore. 
Then  from  fiery  death  escaping,  I  sprang  out  and 

knew  no  more. 
But  oh,  I  left  the  hospital  a  hideous  thing,  half 

blind  and  lame  ; 
And  'twas  Anrf  s  baby  I  had  saved;  mine  perished 

in  the  flame. 

Yes,  lady,  Ann  was  rescued  from  the  attic  crazed 

with  fright, 
Whither  she  ran  to  rouse  her  boys,  who  else  had 

waked  no  more  that  night. 
Ann  said  she  never  could  repay  me,  she  a  poor 

sailor's  wife; 
And  would  insist  she  'd  been  to  blame,  good  soul, 

and  thought  so  all  her  life. 

Well,  health  returned,  yet  every  day  saw  hopes  of 
happiness  depart ; 


44  THE  APPLE  WOMAN 

For   husband   never  was  the  same,  he  took  our 

losses  so  to  heart. 
Moody  or  wild,  neglecting  work,  he  sought  the 

tavern's  hateful  spell : — 
Ah,  guess   what   followed,  ma'am,  his  shame  is 

not  for  my  poor  tongue  to  tell. 

I  struggled  on,  toiled  early  and  late,  more  than 

my  strength  could  bear ; 
Though   Charlie's    little    gains    ere    long   were 

proudly  brought  for  me  to  share. 
Then  happened  what  I'd  long  foreseen,  after  years 

of  silent  woe, — 
But  oh,  the  tears  of  widowhood  came   with  a 

bitter  flow. 

Sad  and  lonely  were  the   days  I   passed  while 

Charlie  was  at  sea. 
He  was  a  beautiful,  brave  boy,  and  so  dutiful  to 

me 
That  I  had  no  heart  to  thwart  his  wish  to  lead 

a  sailor's  life. 
Thank  God  !  there  never  came  between  us  a  word 

of  blame  or  strife. 

He  was  wondrous  clever,  too,  I  still  can  see  his 

sunny  smile, 
While  telling  marvelous  long  yarns,  dear  boy!  our 

evenings  to  beguile. 
I  know  not  how  he  learnt  it  all ;  his  tongue,  so 

glib,  was  never  bold, 


THE  APPLE  WOMAN  45 

And  so  truthful — why,  he'd  not  have  told  a  lie 
for  mines  of  gold. 

Well,    a  hard  winter  came,  when  food  was  dear 

and  scarce  beside  ; 
But  I  sold  no  apples  in  those  days ;    Charlie   all 

my  wants  supplied. 
I   counted   every   lengthening    day,    as   a   miser 

counts  his  store, 
For  with  the  spring  would  come  my  treasure  to 

my  arms  once  more, 

I  remember  how  I  used  to  sit  and  wateh  the  little 

star 
He  once  told  me  guided  mariners,  wandering  on 

seas  afar  ; 
And  how  my  yearning  heart  would  throb,  as  I 

walked  at  eve  alone, 
Looking  out  upon   the  ocean,   saddened  by  its 

solemn  moan. 

And   oh,  I  never,   never  shall   forget   when   the 

great  storm  began, 
How  the  wind  howled  at  the  shattered  pane  and 

the  rain  in  torrents  ran ; 
How   I   held  my   fainting  breath  at  the  awful 

thunder  of  the  deep, 
As  all  night  long  I  wept  and  prayed,  and  never 

thought  of  sleep. 

And  what  a  mortal  dread  I  felt,  when,   cowering 
at  the  hearth, 


46  THE  APPLE  WOMAN 

An  icy  kiss  upon  my  brow  left  a  farewell  not  of 
earth. 

A  stillness  fell  ere  morning  broke ;  and  when  I 
looked  upon  the  street, 

The  white  snow  lay  in  drifted  folds  like  a  glisten- 
ing winding-sheet. 

Three  fearful  days  the  tempest  raged,  before  'twas 

truly  known, 
That,    while   saving    other    lives,    my   boy   had 

bravely  lost  his  own; 
And  that  almost  in  sight  of  home  his  ship  had 

gone  ashore, 
Freighted  with  precious  souls,  whose  little  dream 

of  life  was  o'er. 

Small  comfort  to  me  was  it  then  to  hear  his 

frozen  corse  was  found, 
And  with  others  decently  interred  in  consecrated 

ground. 
But  now  I'm  glad  to  know  he  sleeps  beneath  the 

heaven's  blue  pall, 
With  a  sunny  sod  upon  his  breast  where  summer 

roses  fall. 

You  weep, — ay,    so  did  I  those  days,  until  my 

heart  was  dry. 
But  now  I'm  waiting  patiently  to  join  them  all 

on  high. 
I've  earned  a  pittance,  just  enough  a  pauper's  end 

to  save ; 


THE  APPLE  WOMAN  47 

And  have  a  spotless  suit  laid  by  to  clothe  me  for 
the  grave. 

I  cannot  see  through  it  all !  yet  I  feel  that  God  is 

good, 
That   His  sacred  promises  are  kept,  though  not 

always  understood. 
No  kindred  branch  is  left  me,  but  He  has  lent  a 

little  flower 
To  cheer  my  wintry  age  and  dew  with  tears  its 

last  dark  hour. 

'Tis  Nellie,  madam,  Ann's  poor  grandchild,  now 

orphaned  and  alone. 
I  love  the  dear  good  girl,  and  oftentimes  forget 

she  's  not  my  own. 
On  holidays  and  the  brief  hours  that  labor  leaves 

to  spare, 
She  never  fails  to  come  and  soothe  me  with  many 

a  tender  care. 

Together  then  we  gossip  and  the  pleasant  time 

flies  fast, 
While  she   prophecies  the  future  and  I  preach 

about  the  past. 
And  that  is  all  my  story,  dear.     Yes,  when  it's 

not  too  cold, 
You  '11  find  me  hereabouts, — not  long,  though, 

for  I'm  growing  weak  and  old. 


SE/I  WEEDS 


IN  gardens  of  a  hidden  world  we  dwell, 
In  Ocean's  crystal  depths,  through  which  the 

light 

Gleams  in  pale  rays  of  pearl  and  chrysolite. 
Our  purple  beauty  drapes  each  rocky  cell ; 
We  filmy  webs  weave  for  the  chambered  shell, 
Green  carpets  spread  in  coral  caverns  hid, 
A  mossy  couch  for  slumbering  Nereid, 
Or  Siren  dreaming  some  melodious  spell. 

The  sea-nymphs,  dancing  on  the  nacreous  sands, 
Their  flowing  locks  crown  with  our  airy  plumes, 

Their  foam-white  bosoms  wreathe  with  rosy  bands 
And  garlands  woven  of  our  brine-gemmed 
blooms, 

And  with  these  treasures  of  our  ocean- birth 

Enrich  and  grace  the  barren  edge  of  Earth. 


THE    DEdTH    OF   WflQNER 


>T"VHEIR  faces  veiled  in  grief,  the  Muses  bend 
-*-     Above  thy  couch  of  death.     How  cold  and 

still 
Those   lips  of  fire,  that  once  the  world  could 

fill 

With  music,  and  the  light  of  poesy  lend 
To  misty  themes  of  love  and  strife,  and  send 
With  power  of  prophecy  a  deeper  thrill 
To  human  hearts,  and  quicken  human  will 
To  higher  aims  of  Art  and  nobler  end. 

Great  Master,  mighty  Singer,  art  thou  mute  ? 
Thy  harp  unstrung  ?    Thy  voice  forever  hushed , 
Whose  music  like  the  storm  of  battle  rushed, 

Or  in  soft,    melting    strains  dropped   heavenly 

fruit  ? 

Immortal!  still  thou  compassest  Earth's  sphere: 
Thy  soul  on  music's  wings  still  hovers  here  ! 


THE  flERndiD'5  SONQ 


SING,  sisters,  blow  your  music  shells, 
And  dance  on  every  wave  that  swells  ! 
While  skies  are  bright, 
And  morn's  delight 
Within  our  bosom  dwells. 


Sing,  sing  and  dance,  for  soon  shall  we 
Return  to  homes  beneath  the  sea, 

Where  joy  is  dumb, 

Our  power  o'ercome, 
And  hushed  our  minstrelsy. 

There  silence  reigns  in  twilight  shade 
Of  coral  caverns  pearl-inlaid  ; 

Where  sweetly  sleep, 

Down  in  the  deep, 
The  captives  we  have  made. 

Sing,  while  we  sport  in  summer  rays, 
The  siren  song  of  olden  days, 

That  lures  and  charms 

And  to  our  arms 
The  mariner  betrays! 


A    LOVER'S    RttdPSObY 


Oh,  had  I  the  prophetic  fire 
And  touch  electric  that  inspire 
The  poet-soul's  melodious  lyre, — 

The  thoughts  that  now  in  secret  burn, 
Within  my  heart's  deep-hidden  urn, 
By  alchemy  of  love  would  turn 

Into  the  golden  words  that  throng 
To  melt  and  mingle  into  song 
And  fancy's  happy  dreams  prolong. 

Yet  would  I  vainly  strive  to  tell 
The  transports  that  my  bosom  swell, 
Wrought  by  thy  beauty's  potent  spell. 

And  vain  were  quest,  in  earth  or  air, 
For  aught  of  wealth  that  could  compare 
With  worth  and  loveliness  so  rare. 

In  silence  chained,  when  thou  art  near, 
Love  seals  my  lips  ;   in  sudden  fear 
Awed,  as  when  angel  forms  appear. 

Yet,  wouldst  thou  know  what  speech  denies, 
Love's  answer  all  outspoken  lies, 
And  thou  mayst  read  it — in  my  eyes. 


UNLOVED 


T  IKE  a  parched,  neglected  vine 
•*-*     Drooping  in  the  sultry  air, 
Is  this  thirsting  heart  of  mine, 

Vainly  seeking  everywhere 
Some  firm  faith  on  which  to  lean, 

Some  kind  hand  to  raise  it  higher, 
Some  fond  eye  whose  steadfast  beam 

Glows  with  love's  celestial  fire. 

Day  by  day  the  craving  vine 

Puts  its  pleading  tendrils  forth, 
Mutely  grasps  the  barren  air, 

Dragging  wearily  on  earth  ; 
So  this  yearning  heart  of  mine 

Hungers  with  a  vain  unrest 
For  some  kindred  bosom,  where 

It  might  cling  forever  blest. 


BEREdVEb 


I  HEAR  the  meadow-lark's  love-carol  ring, 
I  note  the  swallow's  sure  returning  wing, 
And  blossoms  garlanding  the  new-born  spring : — 
But  where  art  Thou  ? 

The  circling  years  roll  on,  and  evermore 
Fresh  flowers  tessellate  earth's  fragrant  floor  ; 
The  hills  grow  green,  the  billows  beat  the  shore 
With  pulse  unchanged. 

Heaven's  airy  dome,  not  less  serenely  blue, 
From  heights  unseen  still  sheds  the  golden  hue 
That  lends  a  glory  to  earth's  daily  view, 
As  once  of  yore  ; 

When  like  two  guileless  children  hand  in  handr 
That  waken,  wonder-lost,  in  fairyland, 
Within  a  brighter  world  we  seemed  to  stand — 
Immortal  grown. 

Beauty,  a  spirit  of  inborn  delight, 
Before  us  went  and  led  our  steps  aright, 
Through  lowly  paths  to  many  a  starry  height 
By  angels  trod. 


54  BEREA  VED 

As  parted  dew-drops,  trembling  side  by  side, 
Drawn  by  a  hidden  law,  together  glide  : 
Our  spirits  met  and  mingled,  all  untried, 
Insphered  by  love. 

What  subtile  charm  did  then  our  sense  entrance, 
What  fond  communings  veiled  the  hours'  advance, 
What  truths,  the  revelations  of  a  glance, 
Our  clear  eyes  told  ! 

On  ocean-sands,  in  woodland-depths  apart, 
Or  in  the  crowded  halls  of  Mirth  or  Art, 
With  the  sweet  secret  binding  heart  to  heart, 
We  stood  alone. 

E'en  in  the  storm  of  passion's  loving  ire, 
Flashing  its  summer-lightning's  fitful  fire, 
Our  souls,  like  burning  vapors  mounting  higher, 
Were  purified  ; 

And   clouds   that  would  have  made  love's  sun- 
shine cease 

Transfigured  shone  and  gave  its  light  increase, 
Or  broke  in  jocund  colors  arched  to  peace, — 
Such  joy  was  ours  ! 

But  when  our  life's  grand  symphony  began, 
All  thought  diverse  to  sweetest  concords  ran  ; 
Unfettered  as  the  chords  night-breezes  fan, 
Its  music  sprang. 


BEREA  VED  55 

The  wing  of  time  no  shadow  cast ;  its  power 
But  mellowed  golden  tints  of  that  bright  hour  ; 
Eternal  summer  crown' d  our  nuptial  bower 
With  ripened  bliss. 

And  O  beloved !  when  came  the  dread  decree 
That  rent  the  bond  of  that  blest  unity, 
And  like  a  star  no  eye  again  shall  see 
Thou  didst  depart ; 

Swift  as  the  fatal  wrath  of  tropic  seas, 
O'er  whose  calm  breast  the  hissing  tempest  flees; 
Dark  as  the  doom  the  shipwrecked  sailor  sees  : — 
My  anguish  fell. 

I  warred  with  fate,  long  impiously  fought 
Against  the  heavenly  barrier  thou  hadst  sought ; 
The    boon   of   life   was    scorned   and    reckoned 
nought, 

Bereft  of  Thee  ! 

Till,  in  that  night  of  struggling  grief's  appeal, 
Subdued  and  taught  an  angel's  touch  to  feel,— 
Then  closed  the  bleeding  wounds  that  never  heal  : 
The  strife  was  o'er ; 

And  the  Great  Mother  took  me  to  her  breast, 
Soothed  me  with  charms  and  gave  me  holy  rest : 
Now  gently  leads  me  to  the  portals  blest 
That  shelter  Thee. 


AT    THE    FOVINTdIN    OF 


EGKRIA,  lovely  phantom  of  dead  years, 
Thou  lingerest  yet  in  this  enchanted  grot, 

Where  in  ecstatic  grief,  all  else  forgot, 
Thy  being  melted  wholly  into  tears, 
Whose  ceaseless  flow  no  mirrored  heaven  cheers. 

Here  pilgrims  pause  to  muse  on  thy  sad  lot ; 

The  poet  dreams  and  consecrates  the  spot, 
And  in  the  murmur  of  thy  fountain  hears 
Th'  immortal  plaint,  like  moan  of  widowed  birds, 

Its  music  to  his  listening  ear  betrays  ; 

And  visions  throng  of  old  heroic  days  ; 
Till  thought  and  feeling  blossom  into  words, 

To  crown  thy  tears  with  the  unfading  wreath 

That  art  and  song  to  deathless  love  bequeath. 


IN 


AH  ME  !  it  is  a  weary,  bitter  thing 
To  sit  with  fettered  feet  beside  the  sea 
And  mark  its  blue  waves  rolling  wild  and  free, 
That  call  and  beckon  and  white  arms  upfling, 
With  siren  glance  a  free  path  offering  ; 
To  list  to  winds  whose  music  sweetly  tells 
Of  Nature's  liberty,  or  proudly  swells 
With  paeans  that  contending  forces  ring  ; 
To  trace  with  longing  gaze  the  free  bird's  flight 
To  summer  climes  and  heavens  of  purer  ray, 
And  crave  its  airy  wings  to  bear  away 
The  ransomed  soul  ;    while  day  gives  place  to 

night, 
And,  mocked  by  fortune's  smile,  the  slave  of 

fate 

Moves  the  dull  oar  of  life  and  learns  to  watch 
and  wait. 


VIA  IN 


"RICORDITI  DI  MK  CHE  SON  I<A  PIA" 

—Dante,  Del  Purg.  Cant.  V 

OH,  jealous  love  is  cruel  in  its  might ! 
More    fatal    than    the   south -wind's   fiery 

breath, 

Through  some  enchanting  garden  of  delight 
Wooing  fair  things  with  kisses  steeped  in  death ; 

Till  the  pale  rose  falls  scentless  from  its  stem, 
Sweet   buds   of    promise    cankered   strew  the 
ground. 

And  the  bowed  lily's  spotless  diadem 

Is  blackened  in  the  blight  that  breathes  around. 

Thus,  like  one  buried  living,  make  I  moan, 
Immured  in  this  lone  castle's  secrecy  ; 

While  slowly  as  the  closed  sepulchral  stone 
Maremma's  subtile  poison  stifles  me. 

The  promise  of  my  life's  delusive  morn 

Was  like  the  sunshine  of  a  false  spring  day  : 

A  fleeting  smile,  a  golden  gleam  heaven-born, 
Too  soon  in  chilling  storm-clouds  hid  away. 


PI  A  IN  MAREMMA  59 

My  dream  of  bliss,  a  brief  portentous  calm, 
Vanished  untimely  with  a  troubled  waking ; 

And  grief's  embittered  tears  distill  no  balm 
To    soothe   this   stricken    heart   and   stay   its 
breaking. 

The  setting  sun,  blood-red  like  a  fierce  eye 

Greedy  of  pain,  seems  gloating  on  my  sorrow, 

And  sinks,  as  tireless  foes  to  ambush  hie, 
Only  to  bring  another  suffering  morrow. 

The  dusky  sea,  with  sullen  stealthy  pace, 

Creeps  in  for  leagues  about  the  marshy  land  ; 

While  I  dream  of  blue  waves  that  gaily  race 
And  break  in  music  on  a  sunny  strand. 

Oh,  for  the  pinions  of  yon  wandering  bird, 
To  soar  in  freedom  from  this  prison's  thrall  ! 

Where,  though  by  day   the   screech-owl   mopes 

unheard 
And  bats'  black  wings  cling  to  the  ivied  wall,— 

By  night  winds  sadly  wail,  or  silence  spreads 
A  ghostly  pall  of  noisome  mists  on  earth; 

Pale  spectres  glide  within,  and  horrid  dreads 
Awake  from  unseen  things  of  evil  birth  ; 

Where  numbed  with  grief  I  sit,  or  stretch  wan 

arms, 
Pleading  unheard  with  lips  now  cold  and  pale  ; 


60  PIA  IN  MAREMMA 

While   thoughts,    that   once    came    honey-laden 

swarms, 
With  torture-stings  my  very  life  assail. 

Am  I  that  Pia,  once  in  stately  halls 

Where  met  Siena's  young  patrician  daughters, 
Whose  smile  was  likened  to  a  light  that  falls 

Reflecting  heaven  on  untroubled  waters  ? 

The  breast  of  Beauty  gave  her  nurture  sweet, 
The  hand  of  Art  with  generous  Nature  strove 

To  gift  her  youth  with  charms  and  graces  meet, 
And  mould  her  virgin  heart  a  shrine  for  love. 

Ah  yes,  alas !  in  life's  unclouded  spring, 

I  was  that  gladsome,  cherished  maid,  so  graced, 

Until  a  fatal  love  with  spousal  ring 
A  jeweled  fetter  on  this  finger  placed. 

These  faded  locks,  once  bright  and  softly  flowing, 
Were  beauty's   pride,   breeze-kissed  and  rosy- 
crowned  ; 

These  languid  feet,  once  light  as  zephyr's  going, 
Air-winged  by  mirth  and  music  spurned  the 
ground. 

Till  love  came  fluttering  to  my  ready  heart, 
As  comes  the  shy  bird  to  its  hidden  nest, — 

Only  ere  long  as  coldly  to  depart 

And  leave  to  wintry  winds  what  summer  blest. 


PI  A  IN  MAREMMA  61 

I  learned  to  brook  suspicion's  gloomy  form, 
The  withering  frowns  that  banished  artless  joy. 

Unconscious  of  th'  impending  passion-storm, 
With  bolt  of  jealous  scorn  that  would  destroy. 

O  cruel  doubt  that  crushed  a  true  heart's  love  ! 

Quenched  kindling  hopes  in    vain    indignant 

tears, 
And  left  me  nought  a  husband's  faith  to  prove 

But  sullied  fame  and  life's  few  ruined  years. 

Night  folds  me  shuddering  in  her  black  embrace, 
Not  darker  than  my  fortune's  present  gloom  ; 

For  secret  death  lurks  in  this  shadowy  place 
And  hurries  on  my  early,  unknown  doom. 


To  A  THISTLEDOWN 


TTTElyCOME,  tiny  wandering  thing  ! 
*  V     With  thy  silken-feathered  wing, 
In  my  chamber  window  stealing, 
Noiselessly  thy  form  revealing, 
Gently  waking  in  my  heart 
Thoughts  that  not  with  thee  depart, 
But  deepen  memory  into  feeling. 

Thoughts  of  childhood's  happy  dream, 

When  a  changeless  fairy  scene 
L,ife  appeared,  without  a  morrow 
That  could  wear  a  shade  of  sorrow. 

Light  and  free  as  thou,  more  dear, 

Dwelt  I  in  love's  atmosphere, 

Untaught  a  joy  from  hope  to  borrow. 

Wafted  through  the  golden  air, 

Whither  dost  thou  softly  bear 
Thy  little  fructifying  treasure, 
To  complete  the  careful  measure 

Of  thy  humble  task  on  earth  ? 

Hast  thou  not  the  meed  of  worth 
In  a  wanton  tour  of  pleasure  ? 

Restless,  sportive,  airy  thing, 
Tarry  and  thy  story  sing  ! 


TO  A   THISTLEDOWN  63 

On  the  bank  of  some  blue  river, 
Where  the  pointed  aspens  quiver, 

Hast  thou  left  thy  parent  stem 

For  the  crowded  homes  of  men, 
There  thy  moral  to  deliver  ? 

Or  from  some  secluded  lake, 

Whose  glassy  depths  weird  pictures  make 
Of  hoary  rock  or  drooping  willow, 
That  dimly  shades  the  mossy  pillow, 

Where  the  wild-fowl's  hidden  nest 

Hides  her  brood  from  preying  quest, 
Com'st  thou  dancing  o'er  the  billow? 

Or  perchance  where  some  rude  hedge 

Marks  the  meadow's  grassy  edge, 

Or  field  with  rustling  corn  resounding, 
The  farmer's  fruitful  home  surrounding, — 

A  spiny  calyx  of  pale  hue 

Beside  the  blushing  wild-rose  grew, 

Whence  thou,  oft  kissing  earth,  com'st 
bounding. 

L,ink  of  that  mysterious  chain, 
Whose  secret  man  hath  sought  in  vain, 
Which  though  strained  is  sundered  never, 
Spite  of  time  or  death's  endeavor, — 
Lo,  thy  little  downy  sphere 

marvelous  doth  not  appear 
Than  sparkling  orbs  that  roll  forever  ! 


SONQ 


glad  earth  wakes  !  O  welcome  day, 
-*-     That  brings  fresh  life  in  every  token! 
Night-shadows  flee  like  captive  sprites 
Whose  fairy  bonds  the  morn  hath  broken. 

Resistless  beams  of  rosy  light 

The  gloomy  bars  of  darkness  shatter  ; 

And  fleecy  cloudlets  upward  float, 

Like  sportive  flocks  that  part  and  scatter. 

A  thousand  gems  on  leaf  and  blade 

Like  merry  twinkling  stars  are  glancing  ; 

The  streams  run  blue,  the  babbling  brooks 
Upon  their  pebbly  beds  are  dancing. 

Birds  plume  and  stretch  their  ruffled  throats, 
With  sudden  strains  of  music  gushing  ; 

Flowers  raise  their  slumb'rous  heads  and  smile, 
Like  waking  babes  with  pleasure  flushing. 

The  fallow  fields  and  grassy  meads 

Long  level  rays  with  gold  are  glossing  ; 

The  breeze  with  dewy  fragrance  fraught 
The  tassel' d  corn  is  gently  tossing  : 


MATIN  SONG  65 

From  wood  and  plain  a  hymn  of  praise 
To  Nature's  God  is  sweetly  sounding  ; 

And  every  freshened  pulse  of  life 

With  gratitude  and  joy  is   bounding. 


A  BIRD 


Where  the  topmost  branches  swing, 
There  I  lightly  sit  and  sing 
Greetings  to  returning  spring  : 
Tira-la-la  ! 


Darting  now  from  spray  to  spray, 
Where  the  dancing  sunbeams  play, 
Warbling  a  gay  roundelay  : 
Tira-la-la  ! 

Groves  and  gardens  I  explore  ; 
Near  the  friendly  cottage  door 
Linger,  singing  o'er  and  o'er 
Tira-la-la ! 

Or  within  some  leafy  bower, 
Sheltered  from  a  passing  shower, 
Sipping  nectar  from  a  flower : 
TJra-la-la  ! 

Through  deep  woodland  shades  I  go, 
Where  unruffled  waters  flow, 
Waking  echoes  sweet  and  low  : 
Tira-la-la  ! 


A  BIRD   CAROL  67 

When  I  woo  my  little  wife, 
Heart  and  song  with  joy  are  rife: 
Oh,  what  happiness  is  life  ! 
Tira-la-la  ! 

Arching  boughs  that  touch  the  sky, 
Haunts  unseen  by  human  eye, 
There  my  little  treasures  lie  : 
Tira-la-la  ! 

Safe  within  a  downy  nest, 
Warm  upon  the  mother-breast, 
While  I  sing  with  love's  unrest — 
Tira-la-la  ! 


QR4DLE    5ONQ 


O  LUMBER,  my  darling  one  ! 
V3     Slumber  and  rest, 
In  tenderest  faith 

On  thy  fond  mother's  breast ; 
For  soft  is  the  pillow, 

Where  fresh  from  the  heart 
Her  life  and  thy  own 

Mingle  never  to  part. 

Lullaby  !     Lullaby  ! 

The  weary  sun  sinks, 

His  bright  journey  is  o'er  ; 
The  wavelets  he  kissed 

Ripple  golden  no  more. 
Then  lullaby,  babe  ! 

Sleep  the  dark  hours  away, 
To  wake  and  rejoice 

With  the  beautiful  day. 

Lullaby!     Lullaby! 

Night's  shadows  are  falling, 
And  chill  blows  the  breeze 

That  murmurs  so  mournfully 
Through  the  old  trees  ; 


CRADLE  SONG  69 

But  warm  and  secure 

From  disturbing  alarms, 
My  little  dove  nestles 

In  sheltering  arms. 

Lullaby!     Lullaby! 


flRCTURMS 

TO    MY   GRANDSON    AT    COLLEGE   WHOSE    BOYISH 
NOM    DE   PLUME   HAD   BEEN  ARCTURUS 

AS  nightly,  like  some  Magian  worshipper, 
-"•     I  gaze  enraptured  on  the  starry  sky 

And  mark  Arcturus  gleam  with  ardent  eye, 
Fond  thoughts  of  thee  my  yearning  bosom  stir, 
Till  tearful  dews  the  heavenly  vision  blur. 
I  see  thee,  clothed  in  youth's  auroral  light, 
Awaiting  manhood's  day  with  vision  bright, 
To  pure  and  lofty  paths  of  thought  defer. 

Now  far  away  in  other  heavens  unseen 

By  my  fond  glance,  my  young  Arcturus  dwells, 
Shedding  on  stranger  hearts  those  gladsome 
spells 

Wherein  my  weary  spirit  sought  to  glean 

New  strength  and  courage  for  declining  years, 
Amid  affection's  glow,  undimmed  by  tears. 


To  fir  BROTHER 

T.  J.   G. 

T  AST  night  in  dreamland,  by  thy  cheering  side, 
-••V     I  wandered  '  mid  long  unremembered  scenes. 

By  alchemy  of  slumber's  charmed  means, 
Youth  crowned  our  brows  ;   joy  pulsed  in  life's 

full  tide  ; 
The  forms  beloved,  that  time  and  death  divide, 

Grew  bright,  emerged  from   memory's  misty 
screens ; 

And  yet,  it  seemed,  the  harvest  wisdom  gleans 
From  scattered  sorrows  did  with  us  abide. 

Sweet  the  renewal  of  that  early  life  ! 
When  for  the  mastery  in  logic's  wit 
The  intellectual  fires  of  youth  were  lit, 

And  mirth  and  humor  closed  the  gay  tongue-strife. 
Some  compensation  absence  yet  may  deem 
The  fleeting  pageant  of  a  happy  dream. 


CURDS  IN*  CRE/IM 


A    SOUVENIR    OF   PHILADELPHIA    DEDICATED    TO 
MY   BROTHERS   AND   SISTERS 


"T^TOTHING  trivial,  mean,  or  rude, 
-^  >     But  contains  some  hidden  good 
In  the  husk  the  fruitful  seed  ; 
Potent  virtue  in  the  weed  ; 
In  the  rock  the  virgin  gold  ; 
Bitter  rinds  sweet  juices  hold  ; 
In  the  rough  unsightly  shell 
Pearly  hues  of  heaven  dwell ; 
And  the  wasting  sands  of  earth 
Cover  gems  of  priceless  worth. 
All  things  are  not  what  they  seem, — 
Here  is  more  than  Curds  and  Cream  ! 

ii 

Soft  and  cool  and  mild  and  sweet, 
With  Arcadian  gleams  replete  ; 
Rosy  dawns  and  purple  shades 
Garnered  here  by  rustic  maids  ; 
Clover-tops  and  new-mown  hay 
Tempered  by  the  breath  of  May ; 


CURDS  AND   CREAM  73 

Vesper  music  of  the  trees 
Trembling  to  the  evening  breeze  ; 
Homely  sound  of  lowing  kine 
Mingling  with  the  strain  divine, — 
Humble  poet's  worthy  theme, 
Let  me  laud  thee,  Curds  and  Cream  ! 

in 

Let  me  ever  thankful  be 
Simple  tastes  have  cherished  thee  ; 
For  the  charm  thy  sweetness  brings 
Touches  memory's  secret  springs. 
Bathed  in  fancy's  magic  dews, 
Youth's  pale  flower  its  bloom  renews. 
Visions  throng  of  old  delights, — 
Rural  sounds  and  rural  sights, 
Where  an  ancient  farm-house  stood, 
Near  an  oft-frequented  wood : 
Lights  and  shadows  of  the  dream 
Conjured  here  by  Curds  and  Cream  ! 

iv 

Sounds  that  taught  my  untuned  ear 
Music  of  a  higher  sphere  ; 
When  I  shared  the  pure  repose 
Nature's  sober  gladness  knows  ; 
And  the  song  of  some  lone  bird 
Unknown  deeps  of  feeling  stirred, 
Like  a  warning  voice  afar 
Calling  from  my  unseen  star  ; 


74  CURDS  AND   CREAM 

Long  ere  love's  impassioned  strain 

Woke  the  echoing  voice  of  pain, 

Or  doubt's  rude  tones  to  discord  brought 

Heavenly  harmonies  of  thought, 

Or  grief  could  any  blight  impart 

To  mar  the  summer  of  my  heart. 

Sights  that  painted  on  mine  eye 
Beauty-types  that  never  die  : — 
Shady  stream  with  cedar  dyed, 
And  fringe  of  emerald  moss  beside  : 
Airy  grace  of  tangled  vines  ; 
Cloistral  glooms  among  the  pines  ; 
Pictured  vistas  through  arcades, 
Set  like  gems  in  forest  shades  ; 
Sycamores  in  silvery  mail, 
Giant  wardens  of  the  vale  ; 
Weeping  willows  drooping  low 
In  green  cascades  of  leafy  flow  ; 
Glistening  fields  of  growing  grain  ; 
Flocks  like  snow-flakes  on  the  plain  ; 
Distant  orchard's  cloudy  bloom  ; 
Country  garden — all  perfume  ! 
Where  '  mid  healing  herbs  the  rose 
In  redundant  beauty  grows  ; 
And  silken  lilies  rear  their  heads 
Proudly  from  the  rustic  beds  ; 
Lilac-hedge  and  grassy  floor 
Leading  to  the  dairy  door  ; 
Golden  cheeses,  splashing  churn, 
Frothy  milk-pail's  rich  return  ; 


CURDS  AND   CREAM  75 

Fallow  fields  and  ploughing  team  ; 
Morning  banquet — Curds  and  Cream  ! 


What  this  witchery  ?    And  whence 
Come  these  subtile  links  of  sense, 
Blending  earthly  with  divine, 
Bridging  o'er  the  gulf  of  time, 
And  bringing  sunny  pictures  back 
To  illume  its  blighted  track  ? 
Links  of  sense  with  feeling  fraught, 
Forged  and  fashioned  into  thought, 
Whose  electric  thrills  unroll 
Secret  records  of  the  soul, 
With  ironic  grace  supreme 
In  a  bowl  of  Curds  and  Cream  ! 

VI 

Fled  the  long,  long  years  of  strife 
On  the  battle-field  of  life  ; 
Vanished  all  their  wounds  and  pain, 
Every  tint  of  sorrow's  stain  : — 
Childhood's  golden  age  is  here, 
With  its  joys  and  simple  cheer  ; 
Destined  fortune  strange  and  bright  ; 
Youth's  horizon — boundless  light ! 

Early  morn  !     Hour  fresh  and  cool, 
Sacred  from  the  thrall  of  school ! 
'Mid  the  bloom  of  flowers  and  fruits, 


76  CURDS  AND   CREAM 

Odors  wild  of  plants  and  roots, 
At  the  market-place  we  stand, — 
Brothers,  sisters,  hand  in  hand. 
Brass-bound  tub  and  napkin  white 
Bring  the  snowy  curds  to  sight ; 
Cheerful,  sun-browned  dames  dispense 
For  our  smiles  and  copper  pence : 
Rosy  cheeks  and  lips  redeem 
Gross  delight  in  Curds  and  Cream  ! 

vn 

Lilies  floating  on  the  tide, 
Innocence  our  shield  and  guide, 
'Mid  the  throng  of  busy  feet 
Crowding  market-house  and  street, 
Noise  of  traffic  and  demand, 
Loiter  we  in  fairy-land. 
Undiscerned  the  brow  of  care, 
Eager  search  for  scanty  fare, 
Hungry  glance  and  pallid  cheek 
That  privation's  doom  bespeak  : — 
Heedless  of  the  living  stream, 
Sip  we  nectar, — Curds  and  Cream  ! 

VIII 

Golden  days  forever  fled, 
When  our  footsteps  angels  led  ! 
Childish  faith  and  fresh  surprise 
That  made  the  green  earth  Paradise  ! 
Where  is  now  that  household  band  ? 


CURDS  AND   CREAM  77 

Mother's  soft  caressing  hand? 

Careful  Father,  teacher  sage, 

Planting  seeds  for  later  age,— 

Seeds  of  love  and  truth  and  thought, 

That  enriching  harvests  brought  ? 

Where  the  kindred  of  our  hearth  ? 

And  playmates  dear  who  shared  our  mirth  ? 

Closed  the  shining  Gates  of  Old ! 
Time  and  Death  their  gains  have  told. 
Pearly  morn  and  ardent  noon 
Darken  to  night's  coming  gloom. 
Now  no  longer  hand  in  hand 
Brothers  dear  and  sisters  stand  : 
Ripened  like  the  autumn  sheaves, 
Scattered  like  the  wintry  leaves, 
Oceans  vast  between  us  roll, 
Other  ties  our  lives  control. 
Yet,  as  in  a  magic  glass, 
All  our  youthful  joys  repass, 
Luminous  in  memory's  beam 
By  the  spell  of  Curds  and  Cream ! 


CdLIFORNId 

ON  THE   FORTIETH   ANNIVERSARY  OF  ADMISSION 
TO  THE  UNION 

HAIL,    Daughter    of    the    Great  Republic, 
crowned 

With  vine  and  olive,  while  thy  sunny  face 
Blends  matron  dignity  with  youthful  grace, 
And  Nature's  bounty  makes  thee  world-renowned! 

An  empire's  strength  within  thy  realm  is  found: 
Health,  riches,  beauty, — all  in  thy  embrace; 
And  from  thy  toiling  sons  has  sprung  a  race 

Whose  worth  to  thy  wide  glory  shall  redound. 

And  when  disunion  threatened  to  destroy 
The  noblest  fabric  ever  reared  by  man, 

How  firmly  on  its  platform  didst  thou  stand  ! 
How  lavishly  thy  treasure  didst  employ, 
To  soothe  the  woes  that  Civil  War  began, 
And  by  thy  brave  example  cheer  the  land  ! 


IN  THE  54NT4  CRUZ 


HERE  in  the  balmy  air  I  breathe  fresh  life, 
New  sense  of  liberty  and  Nature's  grace  ; 
And  like  some  lonely  Dryad,  in  deep  shades 
Apart  from  man,  I  wander  in  a  world 
Of  sylvan  beauty. 

In  this  silent  world, 
Lo  !  the  sequoia's  venerable  bulk 
Stands  yet  firm-rooted  'gainst  the  stroke  of  time, 
Whilst  nations  and  proud  thrones,  their  courses 

run, 

Have  crumbled  into  dusty  nothingness. 
Great  pines,  whose  plumy  helms  salute  the  sky, 
Their  naked  boles  like  granite  shafts  upreared, 
Stand  monarchs  of  the  mountain  solitude  ; 
And  ancient  oaks,  with  tangled,  hoary  locks 
Of  pallid  moss,  rise  like  the  effigies 
Of  Druid  priests  of  a  forgotten  age  ; 
And  groves  of  cypress  spread  a  feathery  screen, 
Where  nestle  quail  or  sits  the  listening  hare. 

With  trunk  and  twisted  stems  of  rosy  hue, 
The  stout  madrono  spreads  umbrageous  leaves, 
That  glisten  fitfully  with  emerald  sheen, 
Half-  veiling  flowery  urns,  like  pearl-drops  hung, 
That  load  the  sighing  breeze  with  drowsy  sweets. 


8o          SANTA  CRUZ  MOUNTAINS 

The  ceanothus,  too,  with  subtile  breath, 

Wafts  fragrance  from  her  tiny  purple  plumes; 

And  delicate  azaleas,  with  faint  fire, 

Like  silver  stars,  light  up  each  bosky  nook  ; 

And  manzanitas  raise  entwining  arms, 

Dyed  in  the  ruddy  hue  of  native  wine; 

While   mountain   pinks,    scattered   like   crimson 

drops 
Fresh    from    earth's  heart,  glow  on  her   naked 

breast. 

In  this  embowered  glen,  beside  this  stream 

That  glides  in  crystal  to  the  neighboring  sea, 

Oh,  let  me  rest,  and  in  an  idle  dream 

Of  old-world  story,  playful  fancies  feed  ! — 

That  now  resounding  in  the  wild  bee's  hum 

I  hear  the  magic  horn  of  Oberon  ; 

That  on   this  green   bank,    "  sometime   of  the 

night," 

The  fairy  queen  Titania  may  have  lain  ; 
In  yon  cool  alcove,  where  each  furtive  beam 
Dapples  the  gloom  with  flickering  golden  light, 
Her  dainty  elfin  troops  of  antic  sprites 
L,ike  glow-worms  may  have  sparkled  for  awhile. 

Or  lost  in  sterner  mood,  here  let  me  muse 
On  life's  mutations  in  the  lapse  of  time, 
Pacing  with  tardy  steps  these  dusky  aisles, 
Whose  brown  elastic  carpet  of  dead  leaves 
Is  but  a  page  of  Earth's  wide  palimpsest, 
Where,  o'er  the  dim  mementoes  of  lost  years, 


SANTA  CRUZ  MOUNTAINS          81 

The  olden  tale,  forevermore  renewed, 
In  fresh  designs  of  beauty  she  records. 

Or  like  some  spirit-weary  potentate, 
Sated  with  pomp  and  the  behests  of  power, 
Withdrawn  from  vain  illusions  of  the  world 
To  seek  the  balm  of  Nature's  holy  chrism,— 
My  royal  throne  this  rugged,  time-worn  stone, 
Fern-plumed    and   draped    with   pall    of    velvet 

moss, — 

I^et  me,  communing  with  sweet  Nature's  self, 
Seek  inspiration  from  her  purest  founts ; 
And  here  supine,  with  raptured  eye  explore 
The  blue  ethereal  vault  above  me  spread, 
Until  my  spirit,  borne  to  the  abyss 
Of  thought  divine  from  which  its  being  sprang, 
Touched  momentarily  with  kindred  fire, 
Thrills  with  mysterious  recognition  of 
The  Unseen  Presence  that  pervades  all  space  ; 
And  reconciled  to  Nature's  laws,  discerns 
That  all  is  good,  blest  by  Eternal  Love. 


IN 


COME,  Sleep,  O  silent  goddess,  grave  and  calm! 
Shed  o'er  my  troubled  brow    thy   soothing 

balm, 

Haunt    my  vexed    ear  with  some  quaint    holy 
psalm, 

Or  olden  lay 

Of  childhood's  day. 

Beneath  thy  nebulous,  soft  veil  conceal 

Earth's  sordid  cares,  the  woes  time  cannot  heal ; 

On  weary  lids  lay  thy  Lethean  seal, 

Like  the  caress 

Fond  mothers  press. 

Lead  me  through  mazes  of  thy  charmed  land 
To  far-off  shores  by  peaceful  heavens  spanned, 
There  let  me  wander  or  enraptured  stand, 

Forgetting  all 

Life's  fret  and  thrall. 

There  welcome  smiling  eyes  and  lips  long  stilled, 
Whose  tender  greetings  once  my  bosom  thrilled : 
There  let  me  find  youth's  promises  fulfilled, 

Nor  more  bewail 

The  hopes  that  fail. 


IN  PACE  83 

Or  in  oblivion  steeped,  let  memory  cease  ; 
And  like  a  nestling  veiled  in  downy  fleece, 
In  all  the  sweet  beatitude  of  peace, 

Thy  spell's  control 

Wrap  my  sad  soul. 


